God Bless Us
by Seraina
Summary: Tim knew he what he was getting into when he started working for the Crooked Man. But what's done is done. Moments in the life of Tiny Tim before, during and after the events of Wolf Among Us.
1. Misery Loves

_Misery Loves Company_

Nerissa stood on the other side of the door, holding two grocery bags. She looked up at him with worry in her hazel eyes. "Tim? Are you okay? You haven't been to work in a while and…" she glanced around the hallway and lowered her voice. "I was sent to check on you."

"You were?" Tim was sure that he informed the Crooked Man of his inability to work this week. His old illness was acting up again, and he was too short on cash to pay for the medication that kept his kidneys from slacking off. "Oh, hang on." He closed the door enough to take off the chain, which took far more effort in balance than he felt up to at the moment. He took a deep breath and opened the door for Nerissa to enter his tiny studio.

The incessant knocking on his door was not going to stop any time soon, so he drug himself out of bed, grabbing both of his crutches so he would not have to bother with his leg brace. "I'm coming! I'm coming!" He wondered who would visit him now, since he made sure his last paycheck went to the rent. He leaned on his good leg and opened the door to the width of the flimsy chain.

"I was." She looked around for a place to deposit the groceries and decided to set them on his small table.

It was only now that she was here he was embarrassed of how depressing his place looked. His unmade bed was in the corner, the sad refrigerator hummed noisily in the kitchen. Not to mention he looked pretty terrible himself. He glanced around again and relaxed, leaning his weight on his crutches for a moment while he tried to think of something, anything, to talk about with the other Fable. "Would you like some tea? I can put a pot on."

Nerissa looked at him strangely, her eyebrows gathering upwards. "Why don't you sit down and let me make you some soup? You look like you're going to fall over. I mean… from being sick not from… um… sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be sorry. I know what you meant. I just wasn't really expecting company. I don't usually get any visitors." He sat down at the table, easing his crutches to the floor. He watched her unpack the grocery bags and was surprised to see she meant that she was going to make the soup from scratch.

She ignored his commentary on his lonely existence and set out several prescription bottles for him. "Doctor Swineheart gave me these for you. He already knew what you needed." He took each of the bottles and read the directions, easily popping open the pill bottles with practiced ease.

"Thank you." He lined up the pills in a neat line, knowing there was going to be a catch for accepting the gifts from the Crooked Man. But times were hard and, he was not too proud to accept the help of a benefactor. It wasn't much different than when Ebenezer paid for his treatments back in the Homeworld.

Nerissa set a glass of water in front of him. She turned away as he took the medication and started to cut up the chicken. She seemed as awkward as he was about the situation, being ordered to socialize with a complete stranger. Though he figured she was probably more used to it than he was. He picked up an envelope with his name on it and opened it.

_Dear Tim,_

_I hope you are doing well, though I hear that you have not been taking care of yourself as much as you should. Understand that I will not accept your resignation either. Consider yourself on vacation. And as such, you will find two weeks salary enclosed. I have taken the liberty of filling the prescriptions that Dr. Swineheart had on file. I have also scheduled an appointment for you at the hospital for a check up. Nerissa will look after you for the time being. Do not hesitate to call if you need anything else._

_- The Crooked Man_

He folded the note and put it back in the envelope. "So Nerissa, where did you learn to cook?"

"Oh, Lily taught me. She's a good cook." The girl shifted uncomfortably as she stirred the soup pot, then turned back to the table and sat down in the opposite chair.

"That's good." He nodded, trying to keep the mood light. He couldn't help but feel her eyes on him, like she was trying to see past his surface. He felt too sick to keep up his usual optimistic façade. "So what do you usually do for fun?"

"Oh um… not much. I'm usually working too much for that." She fussed with the soup again. "What... what about you?"

"I like to read." He watched her at the stove. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

She froze and he saw her breath hitch. "Oh no… I have to. I was already paid for my time." She turned, her eyes starting to fill with tears. "Please don't send me back early."

"I didn't mean it like that, Nerissa. I just… if you had anything better to do, you don't have to babysit me while I sit here and be boring. I'll probably end up falling asleep."

"If you want to take a nap, I can wake you when dinner is ready." She seemed genuinely concerned for him and he was already starting to feel the pull of sleep. He'd been awake all night being ill and had finally managed to pass out shortly before Nerissa showed up.

"Okay." He grabbed his crutches off the floor and drug himself across the small span of space where his bed waited for him. He was out as soon as he closed his eyes. Oddly enough, he dreamt of Ebenezer's parlor with the warm hearth and the soft sofa. How he would curl up with a book and read, once he learned how. Once Ebenezer retired and his father took over, Tim spent most days with the old man. It was an arrangement that meant his brothers and sisters could get more attention from their mother and he didn't have to feel so guilty being a burden on his family.

"Tim?"

He felt a hand shoulder that roused him from his dreams. He cracked his eyes open to see Nerissa standing over him.

"Dinner is ready."

"Oh. Thanks Nerissa." He smiled at her and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He could already feel the grogginess that came with some of the medication he took earlier. She hovered uncertainly, trying to be helpful but not knowing what to do. He swung his good leg over the side of the bed. "Can you hand me my brace?" He pointed at the metal and leather contraption that supported his crippled leg.

Why couldn't Dickens have imagined him with just a bout of pneumonia? But no, he had to have a treatable but chronic illness and an iron leg brace. Worst of all, no matter how much he oiled the damned thing, it squeaked, announcing his presence to the world. He tightened the buckles and used his right crutch to lever himself into a standing position.

Nerissa made her way over to the table, which was already set with two bowls and water glasses. She even managed to scrounge up a candle had it lit, the wax dripping onto a tea saucer that he didn't know he owned.

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"I didn't mind. It was nice. Better than dancing at the club." She filled two bowls with the chicken noodle soup.

He nearly forgot that she was a dancer for Georgie. She seemed more of the schoolteacher or nanny type than being one of the working girls in the Crooked Man's organization. But the purple ribbon around her neck was too distinct to ignore. "Thank you anyway. You could have just brought over a pizza and I would have been happy."

"Pizza isn't the same when you're sick." She nodded with a confidence that he had never seen from her. Not that they really had much contact since he started doing odd jobs for the Crooked Man.

He smiled. "Of course not. Nothing compares to homemade soup."

He started eating, more than happy to pretend that she wasn't paid to be here and that they were just a happy couple eating dinner together. He mulled that thought around his head. Nerissa was beautiful, but she was out of his league. Not that he had much of a league to begin with. He still had a hard time getting people to stop calling him "Tiny".

"Do you feel any better?" She stood to clear away the dishes.

He nodded. "I do, thank you." He stood as well, leaning on his crutch. He went to the sink to fill it with water.

"Oh, I can clean up, I don't mind." She set the bowls down and pouring the leftover soup in a slightly warped Tupperware container.

"How about I wash and you dry? It'll go faster." He smiled at her.

"Are you sure?" She looked up at him with her beautiful brown eyes.

"Nerissa, I'm not going to keel over. I'm all right enough to wash some dishes. Besides, Christmas is in a couple of weeks. I usually feel a lot better around then."

"Is it because of all the movies?"

"Ugh. The movies. I hate them all. Especially the animated ones." He swiped at a particularly annoying bit of food with the washrag.

"I don't know some of them have some charm. At least not all of them are musicals." She smiled and flicked the dishtowel at his shoulder.

"What about your movies? You've had more than one as well." He smiled and leaned on his braced leg and moved his hand up to defend himself.

"I have never been a redhead." She said seriously. "I try not to think about them. It's hard enough, you know? Sometimes it's too hard to see some incarnation of you get the happy ending."

They finished the dishes and sat back down at the table, his apartment being to small for a couch or any other seating. The only sound was the infernal squeaking of his brace and the thud of his crutch hitting the stained linoleum. He sat down, tired again despite the earlier nap.

"Are you still driving a taxi cab?" Her fingers laced together on the empty tabletop.

"Only part-time. They usually only call me if they're desperate to cover a shift. Mr. Toad put in a good word for me, but there are a lot of more qualified drivers that don't have the work so they get called first." He traced his finger along the fake wood pattern on the table.

"That's why you've been driving The Crooked Man's car?"

He nodded. "My hours were cut and I couldn't pay my rent. And I don't have anyone else here. None of my family made the journey and… it was either that or eviction. Even with the job, money was still tight. I got the rent paid, but I still couldn't afford my medication and I got sick again." He sighed, "Without charity, Tiny Tim dies." He was cursed by his own story. If no one helps poor Tim, he will die. But now he isn't going to be mourned by anyone. He'd cast his lot in the Mundy world long ago.

"Don't say that!" She stood up so violently that she knocked her chair over. She leaned over the old table, her face close to his. "Don't act like you like being the broken little kid that everyone makes you out to be. You want to live? Then do something about it. Stop sulking around and do something with your life. Even if it's driving cars."

She grabbed her purse and stormed out, slamming the door so hard that he thought it would fall off its hinges.


	2. A Drowning Man

_A drowning man will clutch at a straw_

Three days after Nerissa's visit, Tim picked up the phone and called the Crooked Man. He forced himself to stay on the line through all three agonizing rings.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Tim Cratchit." He felt silly speaking on the phone. It felt so formal.

"Tim my boy! How are you feeling?" the Crooked Man seemed pleased to hear from him, that seemed like a good sign.

"I'm feeling much better, thank you. I'm ready to come back to work actually." He honestly did feel better, and the thought of sitting at home for another week and a half was a little too depressing.

"Do you believe that you're ready?"

"Yes. I even asked Dr. Swineheart and he gave me the okay, so long as I see him next week and continue my medication." A part of him figured that he was over-sharing, but since the Crooked Man was paying for his care, he should probably know.

"Good. Good. I don't want to hear that you've been neglecting yourself again. Now as for work, come by my office and we'll talk."

Tim stood, armed with the location of the nearest Door; he made his way to the Crooked House and soon lowered himself into the chair before the Crooked Man's desk. "You do look much better than when I saw you last week."

"Thank you, Sir." He laid his crutch across his lap and pulled off his hat. He may have lost his accent over his centuries in New York, but he held onto his manners.

"As for your duties, I don't always need a driver. Mary usually drives the car, unless I gave her a different task to complete."

"Oh." Tim's heart sank at the thought of scraping hours here and there, uncertain if he will make enough to keep up the basics.

"Don't worry, Tim. I will find you something to fill the time." The Crooked man stared at him with his unsettling gaze. After a tense moment, the crime lord nodded. "You will guard the entrance to my home."

Tim was taken aback. "Are you sure? I mean… I'm glad for the opportunity but… are you sure that is a good place for me?" He imagined that the others in the Crooked Man's employ would laugh at him, then break him in two like the wishbone of a turkey.

"All you would have to do is wait for someone to enter the door. If they are expected, you bring them to me. If they are not… well… you won't have to worry about that." The Crooked Man smiled. "You should not think of yourself as unable to do a job. There are many different ways to accomplish the same task."

Tim thought about it and nodded. He did have a point. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. You will have other duties, of course, but those will come with time. For now, would you mind putting on a pot of tea?" The Crooked Man rose and Tim grabbed his crutch, pulling himself up as quickly as he could. His brace squeaked and then clicked into place.

"Of course not." He slowly followed his boss as he tried to memorize the layout.

"Do you still enjoy tea?" The Crooked Man walked at a slow, but steady pace, though he seemed to hold himself back because of Tim's slow gait.

"Of course, Sir."

"When did you decide to drop your accent?"

"Oh um… it was around the sixties, I believe. Right when there were more films about A Christmas Carol and… it felt a little less awkward being around the mundies. That was when I first tried to get a job outside of Fabletown. But getting identity papers was too much of an issue. Especially since I was too… memorable. That was the word Miss White used."

"I don't know why you even agreed to such a waste of time, Tim."

"I was living with Mr. and Mrs. Web, posing as their nephew for a time, working in their grocery store as a bagger. I offered to start helping with the books, since my Father and Ebenezer taught me accounting, but… they didn't agree with that idea." He stopped at the kitchen and picked up the teapot from where it was already on the old gas stove.

"How did you manage to escape the Homelands on your own?" Crooked Man just stood beside him, one arm at his side, the other resting on the cracked kitchen counter.

"We hadn't even heard of the Adversary when a group of strangers came through. Ebenezer, being one of the powerful men in Victorian London at the time, met with them. I don't know what they talked about, only that they were leaving their world for one of the other lands. Ebenezer woke me in the middle of the night and packed me a bag and passed over to Friar Tuck. I travelled with them to the Keep at World's End. Tuck then put me on a boat with strangers and… we ended up here. I was on the boat with mostly women and children." He thought back to those terrifying moments at sea, leaving his home but not knowing why until much later. "Gretel took care of me during the journey, my medication ran out about half way. I was too sick to do much of anything back then."

"Do you regret it? Leaving your family behind?" Without Tim noticing, the Crooked Man stepped closer and rested his gnarled hand on Tim's shoulder.

"I didn't have much choice. It was leave or… or go against Ebenezer's wishes. And I couldn't do that. Not after all he'd done for me." He picked up the box of teabags and smelled them. The brand was a cheap American brand and was not something Tim expected of the crime lord. He pulled out two bags and knotted them together at the strings and put the set of bags into the empty cup, then repeated the action for the second.

The Crooked Man looked at him with an unwavering glare, his misshapen face unreadable. "You're very loyal, Tim. That is a trait that is hard to find these days. It is something that I admire."

"Thank you, Sir. Do you take milk and sugar?" Tim studied the man before him, not wanting to fail in his first task.

"What do you think?"

Tim made his way towards the avocado green refrigerator and found a carton of milk and checked the date. He set it on the counter beside the empty cups and made another trip to search for sugar. He found a small sugar bowl in one of the cupboards and carried it back beside the stove. The Crooked Man watched him, unmoving.

He leaned his weight on his crutch, allowing him to use both hands freely. He poured a touch of milk in each cup and a sprinkle of sugar as well. He then took the boiling teapot off the stove and filled each cup and stepped back, letting them steep.

"We'll take the tea in my office." To Tim's horror, the Crooked Man left him alone in the kitchen. He saw a tray that matched the cups and moved the cups to the tray and carefully, slowly walked the mazelike corridors back to the office. He knew this was all a test. He was meant to prove that he could do such things despite his shortcomings.

The closed door was just mean. He shifted slightly to take his right hand off his crutch and turned the knob for the door. It took some careful movements, but he got the door to stay open without upsetting the tea too much. He carried the tray to the desk and set it down, glad that only a little tea had been sloshed over the edges of the cups and onto the tray.

"Thank you, Tim." Crooked Man took one of the cups and pulled out the teabags and set them on the tray. He stirred the tea then sipped it. "Why do you use two bags instead of a longer steep?"

"Because the bags break. I've had that brand before." Tim was too nervous to reach for his own cup.

"Very good, Tim, much better than Jersey or the Tweedles. Good job."

Tim smiled and finally picked up the second cup of tea. "Thank you, Sir."

"This a private party or can anyone join?" Tim turned towards the voice that startled him into nearly spilling his tea.

"Mary, meet Tim Cratchit, he'll be working for me from now on." Crooked Man kept sipping his tea.

"Cratchit? Is this our Tiny Tim?" Bloody Mary strode across the room and walked in a predatory circle around him. "Not quite as tiny, huh?" She ran her icy fingers across his cheek and around the back of his neck.

He shivered and spilled tea in his lap. By now though, the tea wasn't scalding. His face felt hot and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

"C, he's adorable. Can I keep him?" Mary encircled her arms around his neck and shoulders. For a brief moment he felt as if her were choking.

"Mary, please." Crooked Man's voice cut through the chill of Mary's presence. The nightmare Fable stepped away from Tim. "Tim, go home and I will see you tomorrow."

Tim used his crutch to pull himself up off of the chair and nodded. "Thank you, Sir." He made his way home, his mind turning over the events of the day, the test he had passed and his new coworker. He slowly made his way up the steps into his building and checked his mail. He could hear his neighbor The Woodsman raging and carrying on in his apartment upstairs.

"Pssstt"

Tim turned and spotted a single eyeball peering between the crack of the apartment closest to the main entrance. He glanced around and made his way towards the door and knocked lightly. "Hi TJ, can I come in?"

The door opened another half-inch, just enough for Tim to see Toad Jr.'s yellow eye. "Hi Tim. I'm not supposed to open the door."

"I know, I know, but the elevator is broken again, can I sit with you for a while?" Tim knew that Toad was not home and TJ was by himself. He also knew that the yelling from upstairs scared the young Fable. Tim babysat for TJ before, when he was desperate for money and Toad gave him the few dollars he could spare.

The door closed and then opened just enough so Tim could hobble inside. He made sure that the door was locked behind him. He smiled down at TJ. "Home alone again?"

TJ nodded and wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. "Dad's working a double tonight and Mr. Woodsman is being loud again. I um… I heard you squeaking outside and…"

"It's okay, TJ. I really didn't want to have to go up the stairs." Tim smiled and eased down onto the lumpy sofa in the Toads' apartment.

"The elevator is always broken. Why don't you live on the first floor instead of the second floor?" TJ hopped up on the couch beside him.

"The first floor apartments cost more. And they're always filled up. Besides, I don't want to move my stuff downstairs. It was hard enough getting it up there." He smiled. The two talked through the evening and Tim made sure the young toad ate the dinner that his father premade for him and was tucked in bed by 8:30. Tim was about to leave when Toad opened the door.

"Tim? What are you doing here?" The short man stepped inside the apartment and dropped his glamour.

"Woody was raving upstairs again and I thought TJ could use the company. I made sure he ate his dinner and went to bed on time." Tim leaned on his crutch and watched Toad deposit his hat and keys and go for the kitchen.

"Thanks Tim. I don't have any cash to spare for you though."

"That's okay Toad, I got a job." Tim smiled, the idea that he had steady employment now meant that he might finally be able to get out of this slum.

"Yeah? Congratulations. I felt real bad the driving job didn't work out. Didn't think you couldn't drive a stick." Toad returned with a beer in hand, knowing Tim didn't drink.

"It's alright Toad, they still call me when they need to fill in for somebody."

"So what's the job?" Toad asked, looking up at him.

"Oh well um…" Tim was unsure of how to describe his job title and he knew carelessly throwing around Crooked Man's name would no him no favors. "I sit at a front desk and make sure people know where they're supposed to go. I might have to make tea or coffee every now and then." It wasn't an outright lie, and he could tell Toad's mind was already beginning to speculate.

"Well good for you, Tim. I'm glad. Thanks for watching TJ tonight; I hate to leave him alone like that but what with glamour prices these days. Well, you understand."

Tim nodded, knowing that Toad struggled with money like all the rest of the Fables that left the Homelands without any money. "Yeah, I know. Take care, Toad." Tim left the Toads' apartment and started the long climb up the stairs to his apartment.


End file.
